


can we fast-forward 'til you go down on me?

by harperuth



Series: i want ya to catch me like a cold [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Adult Aspects, Dirty Talk, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Visually Impaired Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 04:15:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20075983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harperuth/pseuds/harperuth
Summary: “I ain’t implying slag,” Rumble cocked his head to the side and grinned, “I’m outright stating it...Cop.”Prowl may not have known it but his vents hitched every time Rumble called him that. It was fragging disgusting. Rumble was kinda into it.





	can we fast-forward 'til you go down on me?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ros3bud009](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ros3bud009/gifts).

> can you believe rosey came into my house and cursed my dick with forbidden rumble/prowl knowledge? 
> 
> i literally dropped everything to write this in a few hours, so typos and mistakes are due to the need to be free from this curse.
> 
> please note: i write rumble as visually impaired! there's a really cool moment in the 80's marvel comics run where we see "rumble-vision" for a panel and it's super low resolution and black and white. combined with the fact that he's a cassette, i'm taking that to mean that he can hear incredibly well, but not see too much detail.

Rumble dropped down from the ceiling, barely bothering to catch himself and clattering to the desk below the vent he’d slid open silently, “S’up Cop.”

He couldn’t help but cackle as Prowl shoved away from his desk, swearing profusely. He clucked his tongue as Prowl lunged for his blaster.

“Not a chance Cop,” He darted out quicker in the same direction Prowl had been moving, felt around, then threw the blaster behind him. It thunked against the closed door. Oh good, he was hoping the paranoid bastard had kept that closed again. Open doors were harder to sense, and all the schematics in the world couldn’t tell you if an office door was open or not. 

“How do you keep _ doing this_?” Prowl ground out between clenched denta.

Rumble cocked his head to the side, swinging his legs around until they dangled off the edge of the desk, swinging them idly. He countered, “Why do ya keep putting me in the same cell?”

“Are you implying I _ want you _ to break out, then into my office?” Ah there it was. That strangled vocalizer tone, with just the barest hint of scandalized breathiness. Music to Rumble’s ears.

“I ain’t implying slag,” Rumble cocked his head to the side and grinned, “I’m outright stating it...Cop.”

Prowl may not have known it but his vents hitched every time Rumble called him that. It was fragging disgusting. Rumble was kinda into it.

It was quiet, barring Prowl’s deepening vents. Rumble let him stew. It worked like this every time. Rumble and Frenzy got into some stupid shit in Prowl’s district. Cop gave chase. Rumble let Frenzy get away and Prowl catch him. Prowl got weird and handsy. Rumble got charged up. Prowl shoved him in the same stupid cell, with the same obvious weakness, and Rumble took the same vent shaft into Prowl’s office. And then-

“You’re blocking my comms,” Prowl slumped back in his chair, then gasped when Rumble planted one of his swinging pedes on the seat. Right between Prowl’s legs. He could feel the heat emanating from the closed panel. He didn’t have particularly sensitive sensors on his fragging pedes.

“Course I am, Cop!” Rumble said, “Ya think I’m just gonna let this end right here?”

Prowl could get up and leave. He had before. Rumble was quick enough to get back in the vent and out of the building before he could get any back up. And, Rumble didn’t have any slagging hang ups about it, he was small. Prowl could grab him and drag him back to the cell.

But he wasn’t going to. 

Prowl opened his mouth. Rumble snorted, “Shut the frag up.”

It snapped shut again. 

“I didn’t say close yer mouth,” Rumble said, releasing his panel and pressurizing his spike, the way it had wanted to since Prowl had managed to grab him between one hiding spot and the next, “This spike ain’t gonna suck itself, Cop.”

“I loathe you,” Prowl hissed, but he still started moving closer. He stopped when Rumble planted his other pede against his chest.

“Now Cop,” Rumble pouted, dragging a hand up his spike slowly just to feel the way the chest under his pede hitched, “That ain’t very nice.”

He continued to slide a slow hand up and down his spike, squeezing the end very occasionally to smear pre-fluid down. And to make Prowl’s vents hitch. He kept this up for a long minute, but when it came down to it Rumble was impatient. He wanted to torture the Cop a bit, sure, but he also really wanted to get his spike sucked.

He snapped his valve panel open and dipped down to smear his hand with lubricant. Prowl actually _ whined_. Cool.

“So,” Rumble kept his voice even, bored, “Now that we’ve established how not nice ya are...ya wanna suck my spike _ before _ or _ after _ I smear my lubricant all over it?”

Frag, Rumble wished he could see Prowl’s face. He could see the shape of it sure, the fluctuation brightness of his optics, but sometimes he wanted the details. He wanted to see the features. He wanted to see the desperation and thinly-veiled anger and disgust that he could hear in the mech’s every move, every heaving vent. 

It was a fleeting thought. Always was. Rumble was pretty happy with how he was built, and besides. If he was somehow granted optics for details one of these days? Cop was way low on the list of slag Rumble would wanna see.

“After,” Prowl said quietly. So quiet that Rumble knew only he, with his specifically tuned sensitive audials, picked it up.

“What was that?” Rumble asked, sing-song, hand still rubbing across his valve, smearing the lubricant that gathered all over his hand, array, and thighs.

Prowl’s vocalizer hitched and Rumble grinned. Prowl’s next ex-vent was hitched, and long, deflating his chassis until it leaned heavily against the pede Rumble still had planted on it, “After.”

“Deal,” Rumble shoved at Prowl until he straightened, then dropped his pede. He smeared his lubricant slippery hand all over his spike, not even trying for friction, just mess. He shoved the hand in Prowl’s face, “Clean it.”

Prowl immediately sucked three fingers into his mouth and Rumble smirked. He almost felt the heat of his gaze. Prowl pulled back and licked across his palm, leaving the surface damp but no longer slippery. Rumble took his hand back and leaned back, using both hands to prop himself up.

“Well,” He snickered, when Prowl didn’t move, “I believe I’ve already said, it ain’t gonna suck itself, Cop.”

Prowl fell upon his spike like a dying mech.

Rumble groaned and let his head tip back. Ravage got all judgy, but he never knew how to describe how much _ better _ being with the right bigger mech could be. Rumble’s spike was completely encased, and still Prowl went further, sliding his tongue out and around to bump against Rumble’s anterior node. It was fraggin’ _ choice_.

“Cop,” Rumble breathed, “I’m amazed they ain’t got ya out doin’ honeypots. Yer the perfect little buymech wrapped up in black and white, aren’t ya?”

Rumble laughed as the probing tongue vanished and a particularly violent suck followed.

“Frag off, _ Cop_,” Rumble moaned, “Ya’d fragging like that wouldn’t ya? Pretty little fragger like ya are, up in a window with yer panels open, on display for the whoooole world to see. Lettin’ Primus and all his descendants take a look at ya, decide whether yer worth slag.”

He giggled when Prowl’s groan reverberated through his entire pelvic framing.

“Maybe,” Rumble dropped his vocalizer an octave, and Prowl groaned again, trailing off into a whine as his mouth dropped open a little bit, his tongue bumping back down towards Rumble’s anterior node, “Maybe they could set you up real extra pretty-like. Give ya a spike to suck on in the window, so the mechs know how good ya are at it, how ya was _ made _for it.”

Rumble let his hands slide out from under him, dropping back onto the desk. He hooked a pede up on the edge of the desk for leverage and clutched at Prowl’s head, thrusting and grinding up into his mouth. He panted for a few moments, as Prowl dropped his jaw and let him. He dropped his voice even further as he slowed his pace, grinding his anterior node and the very top of his valve on Prowl’s chin, “Maybe if ya’d been _ real _ good, they’d give you somethin’ for modesty.”

He ground slower and slower against Prowl, searching for that sweet spot he knew existed. He angled himself a little more left and, _ ah_, there it was. He whined and rubbed incrementally back and forth, his spike bumping the roof of Prowl’s mouth, and his valve just barely spread against the point of his chin, “Shove a pretty plug up that valve so no one could see just how much of a gaping spikeslut you really are.”

Prowl gasped, and that brief rush of cool air over his spike was enough to send him off. His spike slid free of Prowl’s open mouth as he redoubled his efforts in grinding his valve against his chin. A glob of transfluid striped across Prowl’s cheek before the rest splashed Rumble’s front. 

He finally dropped his hips, letting his hands fall away from Prowl’s head. The mech didn’t push, dropping his head against Rumble’s thigh. Rumble snickered through the aftershocks of his overload, stretching his arms above his head once they stopped. 

He heard a wet squelch permeate the office. He frowned, and without looking kicked _ hard _at the movement he could feel against his knee.

Prowl yelped, and whined, but didn’t move his head from Rumbles thigh. The noise stopped. Rumble picked his head up and let a nasty grin overtake his face.

“I never said ya could do that, Cop,” He said. Prowl’s frame was shaking, rattling the now sensor deadened arm as it flopped uselessly at his side, the primary sensor cluster kicked temporarily dead. Rumble sat up carefully, sliding his panels shut, and forcing Prowl to sit up straight.

He hopped off the desk, hands grasping at the spread knees in front of him. Prowl’s panel was open, lubricant dripping steadily down. Rumble reached out and swiped a finger down the line of glowing red biolights, then across the seat of the chair. Frag, he was practically sitting in a puddle of his own mess.

“Spikeslut,” Rumble said, affection creeping into his tone, reaching out to flick Prowl’s anterior node. He gasped, curling down and hips stuttering forward.

Rumble took the opportunity to straighten up and smash his mouth into Prowl’s, graceless and only with the intent of licking the taste of himself out. He traced his glossa over until he could lap away the smear of transfluid on Prowl’s cheek. Prowl vented heavily as Rumble explored and sucked away at his cheek.

Rumble forced himself to pull away and smirked, “I think ya can take my whole hand today, easy.”

Prowl let out a muffled shout, hips sliding forward in the puddle as lubricant poured out of him, charge heavy in the air as he overloaded. Rumble snickered, darting a hand forward to rub at his anterior node, drawing it out. 

Prowl had barely stopped shaking before Rumble snorted and shoved three fingers into his valve. Prowl keened.

“As if ya goin’ off too early means I’m not gonna stick my hand up ya,” He said, and felt Prowl nearly overload again. Cool.

**Author's Note:**

> come inspire me with more rarepairs and yell about gay robots on twitter: @floralpunkbarton


End file.
